


respite

by LonesomeDreamer



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: LonelyEyes, M/M, but like normal 'have a glass with dinner' consumption of alcohol, my brain was like yeah Put That In so. woohoo., oh yeah peter gives elias a shoulder massage, there is drinking in this one, this one is just soft!! we love that!!, uhhHhH elias is tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:14:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24067924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonesomeDreamer/pseuds/LonesomeDreamer
Summary: sometimes, when the day is done, elias is tired. this time, peter is there to help.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 14
Kudos: 96





	respite

**Author's Note:**

> another tma twitter fic? another tma twitter fic! this one was inspired by a work of art (belonging to @/mushroomys on twitter, forgive me i still do not know how to link things on ao3 i am an Inexperienced Youth) and i just. i had to write something. i honestly took way too long on this one (busy week...) but it was soft and i don't really have any other words to say. please leave a comment if you enjoy this!!

Although the repetitive motions of a day at the office—coupled with the occasional entertaining interruption to routine—were typically comforting in their consistency, every so often there were a few distinct occasions upon which Elias found himself entirely exhausted by a day spent at work. This scenario was oft to occur in the wake of some major development or incident in which his attention was required at a higher level than normal, or if he perhaps chose to call upon extended powers of the Beholding—Eyes were fun, but they required quite a great deal of extra energy.

It had been one of those days at the Institute for Elias, several hours’ worth of just enough nerve-grating activity to wind him up and wear down his patience, and he felt so deeply exhausted that it was as if the sensation itself had sunk into the very marrow of his bones. Returning home at the end of such a day was both a relief and a potential further cause for stress; there were far too many old memories lying about that could compound upon the day’s anxieties and make things, at the very least, mildly worse.

Standing on the front steps, Elias reached one slender hand into his pocket and rummaged for his keys. When he couldn’t find them in his jacket pocket he tried his vest; once he finally pulled the keys from their hiding spot, he sighed softly and set about opening the door. The bolt slid aside with a sharp click as it unlocked, allowing him to turn the knob and push open the door. He stepped inside and allowed his shoulders to drop as the full extent of his tired state finally crashed over him like some sort of massive thunderous wave. He let his eyes close as a quiet sigh escaped his lips.

_Why must some days be so tedious?..._

“Hello, Elias.”

Two simple words, soft in the low register they were spoken in, and yet they managed to draw more personality out of Elias than any of the other interactions he had endured that day. He opened one eye ever-so-slightly; even this slight window proved enough to make out the man standing several feet away. A soft sigh of relief escaped his lips as he let his posture sag.

“Peter. I didn’t expect you to be home,” he murmured by way of reply, a tired smile crossing his face. In his tiredness, he had overlooked any alert the Beholding might have given him—and he hadn’t been particularly searching for any visitors to his house. “A pleasant surprise, truly.”

“You _must_ be tired if you’re calling this a pleasant surprise,” Peter chuckled softly, stepping forward and pulling Elias into a hug. The shorter man did not fight the gesture; rather, he let himself be entirely enveloped in the gentleness of the hug. He settled his face against Peter’s chest and inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar scent of the captain and sighing happily.

“I’ve made dinner for us,” Peter hummed, one hand absentmindedly creeping into Elias’s hair and mussing it about. On any normal occasion, Elias would have been quite annoyed—and offended—by his hair being put out of place; however, in this case, both his exhaustion and the fact that Peter was the perpetrator made things a good deal less contentious.

After a moment or two, the shorter man stepped backward and began to fiddle with the buttons on his suit jacket. Tired yet nimble fingers worked buttons from their buttonholes as he sought to remove his jacket; once all the buttons were undone, Elias carefully peeled off the article of clothing and rather lazily draped it over the back of a nearby chair.

“I’ve had too long of a day to care, at this point,” he announced rather primly, rolling up his sleeves to the elbow. “You said you’d made dinner?”

“Yes, Elias,” Peter laughed softly, shaking his head and running a hand through his own hair. “I made dinner for both of us, and it’s just been set on the table. Would you like something to drink?”

Elias paused in thought, biting at his lower lip as his mind debated between a glass of wine and a glass of whisky. Although the former was certainly more likely to be a splendid pairing with their meal, he was particularly exhausted and craving a stiff drink. If all that hadn’t been enough to convince him, he knew in addition that there were several fine bottles of whisky present in the house that were all quite wonderful—and each and every one of them sounded appealing.

“I think...perhaps a glass of whisky? We’ve that splendid bottle of Macallan,” he mused, finger to his lips. “Or—actually, I could do with an old fashioned, Peter. Would you make me up a drink? Perhaps with that Four Roses whiskey you brought over, or the Jameson, or one of the bottles of Johnnie Walker—”

“Certainly,” the captain nodded, cutting Elias off as he gestured towards the hallway that led to the dining room. “Ladies first, mm?”

Elias didn’t even have the energy to react to his husband’s teasing beyond giving Peter a semi-smoldering glare as he began to walk down the hallway. Peter simply laughed and followed along behind him, rather obviously enjoying the fact that he’d managed to get a rise out of his husband so easily.

_It’s rare that he has that short of a fuse, really…_

Although the journey down the hall was by no means long, it practically felt like a marathon to Elias—not that he’d ever done a cardio workout of that caliber, mind you, much less a marathon, but thanks to the Eye he had quite a good idea of what it felt like. He stepped over to his chair with a gait as dainty as he could muster, attempting to hide the wobble in his step, and sank down onto the cushion with an audible sigh of relief.

“Are you certain you’re alright, Elias?” Peter hummed softly, already uncapping one of the numerous liquor bottles that resided in various places around the house. “You seem...out of sorts.”

Elias watched as his husband measured out a few ounces of whiskey and began to mix the cocktail he’d requested. His gaze followed the gentle curve of Peter’s wrist and the delicate touch the man was using to add the other simple ingredients; a rather coy smile unconsciously spread across his lips as he observed, happy trills of warmth fluttering in his chest. It was only when Peter quietly cleared his throat that the shorter man snapped out of the trance he’d fallen into.

“Mm, yes? What is it?” he managed, blinking owlishly.

“You didn’t answer my question, Elias,” the captain replied, setting the finished drink in front of his husband before pouring himself a glass of whiskey—neat, as he was more than slightly preoccupied with Elias’s behavior and didn’t feel any sort of pressing need to do anything else with his drink.

“I didn’t answer your question,” Elias repeated somewhat dumbly, furrowing his brow in confusion. “I...I didn’t?”

He had lifted his glass to his lips to take a sip, but trailed off into silence with the glass—and his hand—halfway to his mouth. The orange peel garnish within the cocktail swirled lazily about in the amber liquid, resplendent in hazy citrus glory; Elias stared at the peel for a long enough time to prompt further concern from Peter.

“Never mind what I said,” the captain sighed softly, shaking his head. “We should eat, Elias, before things get cold. Yes?”

Elias nodded slowly, taking a sip of his cocktail before setting the glass down again. “Yes, you’re quite right,” he murmured softly, picking up his fork. “It does look wonderful, Peter. You’ve rather surprised me with all of this.”

A grin lit up the captain’s face as he smiled with no small amount of pride, feelings halfway to giddy over the premise of pleasantly surprising Elias. He picked up his own fork and began to eat—he was hungry, and had been considering eating earlier, but Elias’s arrival home had presented the perfect opportunity for a sweet night. After a moment or two of quiet consumption, he looked up and was wholly prepared to say something before his mouth dropped into a perfect minuscule ‘o’.

Drink in hand, Elias had nearly fallen asleep with his head propped up on his free fist. Some of the free ends of his hair had fallen softly in front of his eyes, between the frames perched on his nose and his pale skin. The old fashioned dangled precariously from his fingers; Peter reached out and tugged the glass away, setting it down on the table where it wouldn’t end up broken or spilled.

“You really _are_ exhausted, aren’t you?” he asked quietly, reaching out and touching his husband’s arm.

Elias jolted upright as if he’d been shocked by an indeterminate amount of electrical current, resisting the urge to rub at his eyes. His head felt incredibly heavy, as if a weighted hat had been placed upon his skull, and he stretched ever-so-slightly like a cat disturbed from a nap. He allowed his swimming vision to clear before focusing on Peter; the captain looked quite concerned, for the corners of his lips had turned down and worry was tugging at his eyes.

“Oh, Elias...I think we’d best have an early night,” Peter exhaled softly, reaching out and cupping his husband’s cheek with one soft hand. Elias leaned into the touch half-unwillingly, blood rising to his cheeks and coloring them with a faint rosy shade even as Peter blushed slightly.

“Would you like me to help you upstairs?”

The answer came far too quickly to Elias’s lips, and he pushed it down with a semi-nervous energy. However, before he could gather his thoughts enough to insist he was capable of walking up the stairs, the words came bubbling back to his tongue. With a soft exhale, they became reality.

“I’d much appreciate that, my darling,” he murmured softly, sighing and closing his eyes. “I believe you’ve judged me right, upon this occasion.”

It took Peter several moments to fully process this, as Elias conceding to something wasn’t entirely a commonplace occurrence. Once he had gathered his thoughts, however, he stood up and walked around the table to Elias’s chair. Two hands, soft to the touch yet firm in their guidance, helped the shorter man to his feet; Elias promptly leaned forward and buried his face in Peter’s chest, the top of his hair just tickling the captain’s beard.

“Not now, my dear,” Peter said very quietly, although he was somewhat unwilling to force Elias to stand up and step away. “I can’t help you upstairs when you’re dead weight against me.”

_Well...I could, but he undoubtedly does not want me to carry him…_

“Very well,” Elias huffed, voice heavy with exhaustion. Fists buried in Peter’s jumper, he pushed himself upright and took a few hesitant steps toward the door to the hallway; he shook his head a few times, as if trying to clear the fog from his mind with a physical action. Peter found this quite endearing, even as he hastened to stay behind his husband to ensure that the smaller man would not find a path into harm’s way.

Elias was several steps away from the staircase when he felt a pair of hands slide around his waist, coming to rest securely above his hips. A tiny little squeak slipped through his lips before he could stop the sound from getting out. Had he possessed the energy, he would have whipped his head around to glare at Peter; as it was, he could only give his husband a slightly-diluted withering look of mock annoyance. He looked rather like a cat trying to pretend it was beleaguered by head-pats, when in reality it was quite pleased with the attention.

The captain laughed softly as he took in this expression, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. His guiding grip on his husband’s waist remained, only changing in that the contact seemed to gain a greater amount of intention. “Are you really that annoyed by me, Elias Bouchard?”

“Shut up,” Elias replied, before yawning and covering his mouth with one hand. “I—”

With the second yawn halfway through, Peter wasted no time in gently nudging his husband towards the stairs. Elias reached out for the railing, but instead Peter caught his hand. Soft yet calloused fingers wove around supple thin ones; Elias made a pleased sound somewhere in the back of his throat, pink rising to his cheeks as he leaned back against his husband.

“Not on the stairs, Elias,” Peter said warningly, but when Elias did nothing but cozy closer he simply sighed and continued guiding his husband up to the bedroom—although by this point his guidance had turned into gently pushing Elias forward.

By the time they made it up to the bedroom, Elias was stumbling slightly in his gait and muttering words under his breath that Peter could not decipher. The shorter man settled himself on the bed with a quiet groan and began to undo the buttons on his waistcoat; he was so tired, however, that he was fumbling over his own buttons and not having much success.

“Let me,” Peter shook his head, sighing softly as he stepped forward to help his weary husband. Although his actions were not entirely prompt, Elias complied as the captain undid his vest and helped him off with it. Next came the office brogues he wore, then his shirt, and then his trousers.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Elias hummed tiredly, reaching for the sweater Peter had set on the bed for him. He pulled it over his head and began to straighten it; Peter’s hands met his own in silent assistance, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Peter laughed quietly. “You’d make do, Elias. I’m dispensable, aren’t I?”

“Hardly,” Elias pouted, worrying himself with a pair of pants comfortable to relax in while Peter swapped to just a plain white t-shirt and some shorts. “If you were dispensable, dear, I doubt I’d be inclined to praise you as I do...”

“Candid speech isn’t exactly your usual conversation style, Elias,” Peter mused, eying his husband with concern. Although he’d considered speaking again, he instead chose to step closer to the bed and sit down next to the shorter man; rather carefully, as if acting too hastily would somehow damage his husband, he put his hands on Elias’s shoulders and pulled him closer into a half-hug from behind.

“You’ve—oh, _ow_ ,” Elias hissed, gasping a little at the touch and grimacing. He rolled his shoulders underneath the weight of the captain’s hands; this only served to aggravate the already-angry muscles and tendons there.

“Sore?” Peter blinked, before beginning to gently knead his husband’s shoulders. “You shouldn’t let yourself get so tense, Elias. After all, I won’t always be around to work the knots out of your tired muscles.”

“You’ve no need to talk like that,” Elias grumbled, wincing slightly from the pain of the massage. “I’m not— _ngk_ —going to discard you like some sort of ill-fitting garment, or—or—or something of that sort.”

The captain chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he smiled down at his husband. “Oh, really? You’re just going to openly admit that you love me, hmm?”

“I did no such thing!”

Elias twisted around, an expression of outrage on his face as he turned to glare at his husband. Peter simply laughed and turned the smaller man back around with ease; Elias folded his arms over his chest, pouting slightly, as he was made to face forward again.

“You implied I was different, Elias,” Peter hummed softly, wrapping his arms around his husband. “And that certainly means _something_ , does it not?”

Elias cozied into Peter’s arms, letting his head drop to one shoulder as he leaned back and closed his eyes. For several moments the room was perfectly silent, save for their breathing and the quiet ostinato of two hearts pumping. Peter found himself pleasantly surprised by the simplistic comforting nature of the silence and the gentle touch between them; Elias was light in his arms, and the warmth of their little embrace was soothing. He found himself quite reluctant to let go, or move, or even so much as disturb Elias with an unnecessary breath, but after a moment or two he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of the shorter man’s head.

“Now, how about we go back downstairs for a bit before we go to bed?” he suggested softly, feet already on the floor, and Elias nodded in silent consent. The two stood up, Peter steadying Elias with one gentle hand, and padded to the bedroom door.

Heading downstairs was somehow an easier task than coming up had been, despite the fact that both men felt a considerable amount drowsier than they had before. This time, however, Elias was feeling indulgent enough in his own wants to hold onto Peter’s hand as they descended the stairs; Peter, in return, was pressed so close to Elias that their shoulders were touching.

Elias promptly settled himself upon the sofa, where he curled up in a little ball. With one hand, he reached for one of the blankets draped over the backrest of the couch and pulled it over himself; Peter stepped over and aided him by properly tucking him in. The captain was about to settle himself on the sofa next to his husband when Elias softly cleared his throat.

“Shall we...put something on?” he asked quietly, looking up at Peter with wide eyes that were devoid of everything but tired bliss. “Nothing period, that always takes too much energy out of me. In a bit, perhaps?”

“That sounds nice,” Peter said after a moment, a smile crossing his face as he took in Elias’s head poking out from the little blanket ball. “I’ll make some tea, then. It’ll only be a moment—don’t get too lonely!”

As he turned and headed to the kitchen, he heard Elias scoff at the outright teasing and suppressed a broad grin. It didn’t take him long to put the kettle on and boil the water; when he returned, two steaming cups in his hands, he found that his husband had scooted over enough on the sofa to give him a bit of space to settle himself down. Peter silently handed one mug to Elias, who sipped at it before giving him a nod of approval—Elias had already known that it would be made perfectly to his own liking, naturally, but the physical gesture wasn’t much trouble and he felt the rare need to outwardly acknowledge his appreciation. They sat in silence, sipping at their tea, until Elias set down his cup and opened his mouth.

“...Would you believe me if I told you that...I don’t understand your difference?”

For a moment, the room was quiet. Elias gazed up at his husband with an unreadable expression, awaiting a response; Peter was staring off at the wall, cup of tea in hand.

Rather slowly, a smile crossed the captain’s face.

“Mmm. I love you, Elias.”

Whether it was relief or happiness Elias did not know, but a strange sort of warmth seemed to fill his chest at Peter’s words. He exhaled softly, tension dropping from his face, and buried his head in Peter’s side. The captain chuckled fondly and set his tea upon the table that sat before the couch before turning to face his husband; two soft fingers trailed along the shorter man’s jawline before tilting his head up by the chin, prompting a quiet laugh from Elias.

“What is it you want, _big man_?” he hummed sleepily, a wry smirk playing upon his lips.

“You,” Peter replied softly, smiling, before closing the distance between them.

Their kiss was unusually soft and sweet, fingers curled and tangled in each other’s hair. When they broke apart, Elias began to laugh softly; the sound was delicate and honeyed even as it grew in volume, and Peter was unable to keep himself from smiling. It was the first genuine, full-throated laugh he’d heard from his husband that night—and in that moment, he felt as if he had never heard a more beautiful sound.

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” the captain hummed, in response to which Elias decided to flop down across his lap. Almost immediately, Peter’s arm found itself being used as a pillow—which Peter did not mind a bit, and he certainly didn’t mind that Elias had chosen to stretch out halfway on top of him.

_He’s very catlike, in all honesty. Tiny little cat man..._

“Thank you for tonight,” Elias said quietly, looking up into his husband’s eyes. “Really, Peter. Thank you.”

Peter smiled softly, placing his free hand on Elias’s shoulder as if he needed to hold onto the man to make sure the world around them wouldn’t shatter away into fiction. They lay there in pristine peace, content in each other’s presence and feeling no need to break the quiet—and they never did get around to putting something on to watch. They were

Halfway through his mug of tea, Elias’s eyes fluttered closed; Peter, who had been running his fingers through his husband’s hair, quickly caught the mug before it could spill and set it aside. Reluctant to disturb his sleeping husband, the captain reached over Elias’s peacefully-slumbering form and pulled the blanket tighter around the smaller man to ensure maximum comfort. He then leaned back against the sofa and let his own eyes close, exhaling in quiet relief as sleep slowly descended upon him.

“Goodnight, Elias. Sleep well.”

“...I love you.”


End file.
